


Chains

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Asphyxiation, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, M/M, Masochism, No Plot/Plotless, Orgasm Delay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:42:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s Justin’s fault. It is always Justin’s fault.” Giriko has never had much patience to begin with, and by the end of the day he is entirely out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chains

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhat influenced by this fanart: http://i.imgur.com/ut5Al18.png
> 
> If you know a source for the above, please tell me so I can give credit!

It’s all because the priest taunts him with it.

It’s Justin’s fault. It is  _always_  Justin’s fault. Left to his own devices Giriko would...well. Healthy relationships have never  _really_  been his thing, but even in 800 years of wives and children and mistresses and boyfriends and fuckbuddies Giriko can’t remember a single person who could grind through his patience as quickly as the fucking priest.

The chainsaw is bored, as usual, and hornier than usual by the time Justin gets back from whatever stupid Death Weapon duties he had today. He has been  _very_  patient, waited all day without leaving the house like he’s supposed to. He didn’t break any furniture; he even tried reading, although it was a very brief attempt and the book came away rather the worse for wear as a result. He deserves a  _reward_ , and he  _wants_  a fuck, and then Justin comes in the door wrapped up like a skinny blond present in those stupid robes.

“Jus-tin,” Giriko calls from the couch in the living room, loud so Justin will hear him over his headphones. “I’m  _bored_.”

The words aren’t angry. He’s spent the last hour casually imagining the various  _entertainment_  they can have once Justin is back, so the sound is closer to a purring rumble in his throat than the razor-edge of irritation.

“Sorry,” Justin says, and his tone is anything but. Footsteps come down the hallway and Giriko sits up just in time for Justin to brush right past him, close enough to grab and totally ignoring him in favor of shuffling through a stack of papers in his hand.

“Hey,” Giriko starts, but Justin keeps walking. “Hey,  _priest_.” His voice is grating now but Justin still doesn’t turn as he rounds the corner into the kitchen and the associated table. “ _Hey_!” He vaults over the back of the couch and storms after the blond.

Justin doesn’t turn, doesn’t look up from the stack of paperwork he’s considering on the table. “Giriko, I’m  _busy_ ,” he says to the table.

“And I’m  _bored_.”

“So amuse yourself.”

“Why  _should_  I when  _you’re_  here?” Giriko demands, reaching out to catch Justin’s wrist and leaning in to nip at the priest’s neck.

Justin whips his hand around to shake off the chainsaw’s hold, clipping the edge of Giriko’s face with the back of his fingers as they go by. “Go  _away_ , Giriko.”

Giriko hisses at the impact with his face and his rising irritation hardens into anger proper. He grabs at Justin’s wrist again, bruisingly hard this time, and when Justin tries to repeat his previous trick he holds tight and yanks the priest away from the table.

“Don’t  _shoo_  me like I’m some fucking  _pest_ ,” Giriko hisses into Justin’s face. The priest leans back, and his blue eyes are hard with irritation, but he looks significantly less fazed that Giriko would like.

“Don’t  _pester_  me, then,” he snaps back, pulling at Giriko’s hold uselessly. “I am  _busy_ , I don’t have  _time_  for this right now.”

“You seem to be under the false impression that I give any kind of a fuck about your  _work_ ,” Giriko shoots back. “I am  _bored_  and you are  _here_  and your work is going to having to  _fucking_  wait.”

Justin opens his mouth to say something and Giriko swings in hard enough that their noses crush together before he can set his teeth hard against the priest’s lower lip and bite until blood fills his mouth. Justin makes a whining noise that sounds like hurt and Giriko lets him go. He immediately regrets this decision as Justin spits his own blood over the chainsaw’s face, eyes going darker blue with fury.

Giriko hisses, swipes at his face with his free hand, and when it comes away smeared red with Justin’s blood he gives up on cleaning himself up and settles for seizing Justin’s throat in a secondary attempt to get some sort of response from the blond.

Justin smirks, lopsided and taunting, and Giriko shoves hard with the hand on his throat, stepping forward and pushing back until Justin’s shoulders hit the nearest wall behind him. The priest chokes, Giriko can feel his throat working for air, but as soon as the chainsaw loosens his grip the priest takes a deep breath and visibly collects his instinctive panic.

“Okay, you have my  _attention_ ,” he manages, although the sound is somewhat strained around the pressure on his throat. “What  _exactly_  do you want?”

“I want a  _fuck_ , you  _shithead_ ,” Giriko growls into Justin’s face where the priest is sure to read his lips. “I thought you’d be  _interested_.”

Justin rolls his eyes, and when he speaks his voice is weighted with sarcasm in spite of the strain. “Absolutely, because I  _live_  to serve your sexual appetite.”

“Are you saying you’re  _not_  interested?” Giriko hisses. He pushes his fingers deeper into Justin’s windpipe, so the priest gasps and he can hear the whine of air as he tries to breathe. When he digs his hips against Justin’s and angles his leg between the priest’s the blond tries to wiggle away, but there’s not really anywhere for him to go, and the robes don’t do enough to disguise the dig of his erection.

“That’s what I thought.” Giriko tightens his fingers again, so for a moment Justin is trying to breathe and getting nothing at all, and then lets go in favor of holding the priest’s shoulder back against the wall.

Justin sucks in air, exhales, inhales again, and glares at Giriko like his arousal is the chainsaw’s fault. Of course it is, for some definitions of “fault.”

“Fuck off,” he spits, and Giriko laughs, legitimately amused in spite of his burning frustration.

“Yeah, you seem real convinced of your own determination.” He leans in, licks a trail of saliva along the line of Justin’s collar, and the priest shivers a minute before he’s able to rein in his reaction. When Giriko bites him hard enough to break skin with the edge of sharp teeth Justin groans and rocks his hips up; it’s almost as gratifying as the taste of blood on his tongue, the way the blond has stopped fighting his hold.

Then Justin gets his hands on Giriko’s shoulder, shoves back, and it’s not as hard as Giriko knows he  _can_  push but it is enough to send the chainsaw stumbling back a step or two, and that’s  _not_  acceptable, not with anger and arousal boiling together under Giriko’s skin. He surges forward, slams Justin hard against the wall and pins him there with his extra weight and extra strength, and this time when the priest pushes Giriko doesn’t flinch or shift. He shoves back, leans in to catch the cord of one of those  _fucking_  headphones with his teeth and pull it free so he can exhale loud against Justin’s ear. The priest jerks away, twists his mouth into the start of some sort of angry denial, and Giriko laughs so low he can feel the vibration hum through metal and bone.

“You’re gonna be that way, huh?” He breathes against the priest’s ear, and though Justin pulls away Giriko is close enough now to hear the stutter in the blond’s breathing, close enough to feel the moment of submission flicker through the lean body against his before the priest recalls himself, goes stiff and still with barely-restrained fight again. It makes Giriko laugh, legitimate amusement with none of the gentleness usually associated to the sound. He shrugs one-shouldered, stretches one arm out clear of Justin’s skin and the wall both. “It’s not like I can’t  _handle_  you like this too.”

The chains come up quick, absent the usual tearing edge they have and the faster for that. The first loop goes around Justin’s wrists; although it doesn’t do much to stop his fight it does keep his hands back behind him, out of the way and out of commission, and a plan is starting to come together in Giriko’s head, the faint outlines rising into clarity as he considers. There are some advantages to being a weapon, techniques Giriko can’t manage at any kind of a distance for combat but that come in  _extremely_  handy this close-up.

The second loop tangles around Justin’s leg, catches and holds his weight while Giriko considers alternatives and finally just embeds the other end in the ceiling. Justin sighs, put-upon at this insult to his house. His eyes are still steady, totally unafraid in spite of his lack of balance and lack of manual dexterity now. Giriko is  _winning_ , Giriko is in  _charge_ , there is blood staining the white collar of Justin’s robes and still oozing from his lip and the damn priest just  _looks_  at him like he’s beneath  _notice_. Giriko growls and that doesn’t get a response either, he can feel fury twisting sharp-edged under his skin, so he pulls a chain up along his leg -- saw-toothed this time, maybe it was a mistake to not use those all along -- and kicks out, tears the blades through the layers of cloth Justin is wearing.

The priest jerks backward, loses his precarious balance so he falls against the wall, so the teeth just destroy fabric and don’t quite break skin. Giriko takes the saw back down, steps back into arms’ reach and closes his fists around the torn robes.

“You could have killed me,” Justin hisses, eyes narrowed now, dark with anger, and that’s  _good_ , the reaction is a betrayal of his calm and  _yes_   _that_  is what Giriko wanted.

“Lucky you’ve got such good reflexes,” he says in deliberate imitation of the priest’s perpetual calm, and Justin shoves off the wall with his teeth bared. Giriko doesn’t know what he intends to do, with his weapon-ready hands locked behind his back, but he slides back anyway to avoid finding out.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a terrifying Death Weapon,” the chainsaw drawls. It’s easy to be amused when Justin’s angry, even when the blond is unrestrained and actually dangerous; sometimes Giriko feels like they share one pool of rage, so when the priest finally snaps Giriko can relax into delight. He pulls at the half-shredded clothes, yanks most of the fabric free; the collar catches at the priest’s neck and a determined seam holds on at his waist, but other than an involuntary hiss at the pull Justin doesn’t react, doesn’t look frightened or aware of his vulnerability at all. There’s just that fury in his eyes, tension in his shoulders because he’s  _still_  pulling at the chains on his wrists, aiming for slackness that Giriko knows perfectly well won’t come.

The chainsaw steps in, reaches out to touch the outline of bones against Justin’s hip, and the priest wiggles and snaps at him like he’s going to do damage with his  _teeth_. Giriko catches the movement, shoves back against Justin’s shoulder so he’s against the wall again, and goes back to sliding his hand along the other weapon’s exposed skin.

“You’re so fucking  _skinny_ ,” he says, wrapping his fingers around Justin’s narrow hipbone. “You’re like some sort of goddamn  _bird_ , I could break every bone in your body barehanded.” He brings his hand up, along the faint outline of ribs. He can feel Justin’s breathing going ragged under his hand, can see the movement of his lungs when he sucks in air, but the priest is still glaring at him like he’s fully clothed and fully free and is just biding his time to strike a retaliatory blow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Giriko smirks.

“How am I  _looking_  at you?” Justin spits back without a change in his expression.

Giriko rolls his eyes. “Like you don’t  _like_  this. Like you aren’t getting off on being tied up and helpless while I do whatever I want to you.”

Justin pushes forward; the motion lacks any force but it does carry his emotional point well. “Who said I was  _liking_  this?”

Giriko shoves him back against the wall by his shoulder and reaches down without looking. He’s watching Justin’s face when he closes his fingers around the priest’s hard cock, watching for the momentary loss of control as blood rises to the blond’s face and he starts half-a-moan as Giriko pulls up without concern for gentleness.

Then the chainsaw lets go, steps back, and Justin blinks his gaze back into focus and if he was angry before now he’s  _furious_ , eyes snapping with frustration and cheeks flushed with want.

“That’s what I thought,” Giriko says. “Now. I’m going to leave you alone for a bit and I can’t have you struggling your way to freedom, so --”

The extra restraints are mostly unnecessary, but Justin hisses every time Giriko digs one into the ceiling, and the dark chain looks so  _good_  against Justin’s skin that by the time Giriko leaves him most of his weight is supported by the criss-crossing pattern of links around his leg and hip and torso.

Giriko takes his time; he knows right where the lube is but goes slow to get it, slicks up his fingers before he undoes the front of his pants and takes his cock in hand, coating it with steady strokes until he’s ready to head back into the other room. It’s worth the wait when he comes around the corner, finds Justin exactly as he left him but somewhat more breathless and marked with scrapes over the sharper edges of his body from where he has been trying to struggle free. The priest looks up as Giriko comes in, opens his mouth to say something and then looks down, to Giriko’s open pants and hard cock, and his eyes flicker out of anger into darkness for a moment. He licks his lip, catching the last of the blood as he does, and then looks back up at Giriko’s smirk and blushes all across his face and down his neck and shoulders to his collarbones.

“Like what you see?” Giriko drawls as he comes forward. Justin is back to glaring but his blush is lingering, his eyes are liquid when Giriko gets close, and his lower lip is trembling when Giriko reaches out to slide his thumb across it. “And you said you weren’t  _interested_.”

Justin tosses his head back, looks down his nose at Giriko like he’s some sort of prince and Giriko’s miles beneath him, and says, “Don’t put  _words_  in my mouth.”

“I could put something else in your mouth,” Giriko offers, but when Justin bares his teeth at him he laughs. “Okay, you’re right, bad idea.” He replaces his hand at Justin’s hip and holds the other weapon steady while he brushes one slippery finger over a collarbone and the dip at the priest’s throat. Justin shuts his eyes but Giriko can feel his breathing speed in his throat, can see the way his mouth comes open when Giriko presses gentle against his windpipe.

“You like it,” he says, and shifts his hand down to brush his fingertips over Justin’s nipple. The priest grits his teeth but doesn’t quite entirely swallow back a moan, and his skin goes hard under Giriko’s touch. When he pinches Justin’s whole face screws up in concentration, determined not to react, but the determination is a reaction in itself and Giriko just laughs.

“I don’t know why you fight it.” He lets go of hip, brings his hand up between Justin’s legs. The priest’s eyes are still shut but his mouth is open again, breathing hard. “I’m not  _complaining_ , of course, but I don’t  _get_  it.” He slides one finger inside the blond and Justin makes a sound proper, an unrestrained whimper back in his throat. “You could just  _ask_  and we could skip all this.” A second finger and Justin tips his head back, rests his weight against the wall and gasps. Giriko slides his fingers out, pushes back in again in one stroke, and the priest starts to breathe audibly, matching the movement of the chainsaw’s fingers inside him with the pattern of his inhalations.

“I guess this could be considered foreplay, though,” Giriko observes. His voice is steady, teasing; it’s a rare pleasure to be able to speak normally when Justin can’t even form a coherent sentence. “I’ve never been patient enough for much of this, though.”

When he pulls his hand free Justin goes slack, lets his weight hang on the chains Giriko’s wrapped around him. The chainsaw doesn’t have any intention of letting him catch his breath, though. He’s been waiting  _all day_  and  _longer_  now than he intended, and Justin’s skinny hips make excellent handholds for his fingers. He takes a half-step in to fit himself between Justin’s legs, shifts his cock into position, and slides up and in as he pulls Justin down by his hips.

The priest whimpers at the movement, offers a strangled gasp against Giriko’s hair, and  _this_  is what Giriko has been  _wanting_ , not the too-familiar friction of his own hand but Justin hot and tight around him, and when he pulls back and thrusts back in the sound Justin makes is a lot closer to a moan. Giriko steps in closer so he’s pinning the blond between his own body and the wall, and this way his hands are mostly free and he can feel the twitch of Justin’s cock hard against his stomach every time he thrusts. He licks the drying blood off the bite mark at Justin’s shoulder, reaches up to settle his fingers around the priest’s throat, and he can’t see Justin’s face from this angle but he can  _hear_  him, the high note of panicked arousal that says the self-control is gone, that Justin’s blue-on-blue eyes are unfocused and glazing over with want.

“See,” Giriko manages against Justin’s hair, “Don’t you  _like_  this?” and his words are starting to peel apart too, now, but Justin just groans, and when Giriko presses his fingers tight the sound cuts off and Justin rocks forward, grinding himself uselessly against Giriko’s stomach. The chainsaw laughs, pushes back on his next thrust, and he can feel the blond’s responding moan more than he can hear it.

He goes on talking, words coming fast and splintered but coherent all the same, poured into Justin’s ear for the satisfaction of the taunt and the response of Justin’s body quivering against his. “You want me to touch you, don’t you? How  _much_  do you want it?” He shifts his weight back, takes some of the friction away, and when he loosens his fingers Justin whimpers before he inhales, priorities jumbled and wrong. “What would you  _do_ , to have me touch you?” He drags his fingers across Justin’s hip, over the flat lines of his stomach, just  _barely_  too high, not  _quite_  where the priest wants him, and Justin groans and wiggles, and he doesn’t succeed in moving Giriko’s hand but the chainsaw grunts at the sensation around his cock, Justin’s motion carried straight to his own spine in a wave of pleasurable friction. Giriko laughs and moves his hand away, locks his fingers back in place around Justin’s hipbone, and says, “Too bad I can just  _take_  it.” Another motion of his hips, and Justin is starting to sound really raw with desperation now, and the sound of the priest panting against him and the pressure of bones under his hands and the feel of Justin around his cock is starting to escalate, Giriko can feel coherency starting to crumble at the edges of his awareness. He stops talking, stops taunting, stops  _waiting_ , grabs Justin at his hip and waist and picks up his pace, chases down the rising tension of climax with Justin’s gasping whimpers in his ear.

It doesn’t take long from there, not with Justin right where Giriko  _wants_  him and just as  _needy_  as he likes him. When the chainsaw thrusts and groans and comes Justin  _wiggles_  again, tries to hitch himself forward against Giriko’s stomach, and that makes it better, Justin moving against him and the proof that he can’t  _go_  anywhere, and Giriko’s hands spasm bruising hard to hold Justin in place until he can fucking  _see_  again.

Then he takes a deep breath, lets his grip go and slides himself free. His breathing is still adrenaline-fast but slowing, drawn deep and slow by the satisfaction of orgasm. Giriko blinks, and sighs, and then he looks at Justin.

The priest is still half-suspended by Giriko’s chains (and how he maintained the mental focus to sustain those the chainsaw will never know), flushed and gasping and desperate, desperate. When Giriko steps back in Justin whines high and panicked and rocks forward, but he can’t get enough traction with his compromised balance, and Giriko smiles slow and waits until Justin opens his eyes to look at his face.

“Not enough, is it?”

Justin blinks at him, all the condescension and haughty pride utterly gone from his gaze. Giriko’s not even sure the priest is understanding him, but he goes on speaking anyway.

“I could let you  _try_  to get off for an hour like this and you couldn’t manage it.” He draws a finger down Justin’s stomach, stops just short of where Justin  _wants_  him, and the blond drops his head back against the wall and makes a sound like a sob. “Or I could just leave you here for a while.” That  _is_  a sob, a wail in the back of Justin’s throat. “What do you  _want_  me to do,  _Justin_?”

The name is an insult and a diminutive at once; it curls hot with meaning all across Giriko’s tongue like the taste of blood, and Justin keens and rocks forward and says, “ _Touch_  me, Giriko.”

“Is that a  _command_?” Giriko hisses, faux-angry again, and Justin gasps out, “No, no, no.”

“What  _was_  it?”

“A plea,” Justin manages, talking so fast his words are tangling over themselves. “ _Please_  touch me, I’m  _begging_  you Giriko,  _anything_  would be enough.”

Anything  _would_  be enough. Giriko’s never seen Justin like this, has never pushed him far enough without some sort of reciprocation for the priest. If he could he’d fuck him all over again but it’s too soon, and Justin is actually  _crying_  with want, so Giriko drops to his knees in front of the blond and pulls the remains of the priest’s clothing aside.

Justin looks down at him and his eyes go wide with panic. “Oh God, no no it’ll be too  _much_  Giriko  _don’t_ ,” but Giriko remembers how Justin gets about blowjobs, the way he comes gasping in  _minutes_ , and he wants to  _know_  what will happen this time. He stares up at Justin’s wide blue eyes, and he smiles, and there is a moment of perfect understanding in the priest’s face. Giriko keeps looking at him as he opens his mouth, exhales hot against Justin’s cock, and then closes his lips just over the head and slides his tongue hard against the sensitive skin.

Justin  _shrieks_ , hits a range Giriko has never heard him reach before, and falls back against the wall like he can’t hold himself up while he pulses hot come all across Giriko’s tongue. Normally the chainsaw is opposed to the salty taste, but Justin’s legs are visibly  _shaking_  and he looks like he might be about to faint and that is worth the inconvenience of the flavor.

Giriko waits to pull away until Justin is breathing normally again and gets to his feet while the priest is still shuddering with aftershocks. The chains disappear as easily as he formed them, though he has to catch the blond from falling as the resistance disappears. Justin drops against him, none of his haughty poise in evidence, and Giriko notes the effectiveness of this technique even through the distraction of Justin’s fingers curling against his hair and the back of his neck.


End file.
